Enemies & Lovers
by Lori2279
Summary: X-over with League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Theresa is the granddaughter of Captain Nemo. One shots.
1. The Great Escape

This starts when Theresa is pregnant with 'Gwen' and Ethan's babies. For the cast list go to my author page and follow the link to my webpage.

LOEGPSLOEGPSLOEGPS

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald's room," a southern accented voice said to the clerk at the Harmony Hospital's front desk.

"Are you family?"

"I'm Dr. Harley Jekyll. If you check, I'm sure you'll find out that Dr. Russell is expecting me."

"Dr. Jekyll? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm not." Harley rolled her eyes. "Look, can you just call- Eve!" Harley spotted the other woman.

"Dr. Jekyll? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"I caught an earlier flight. I understand you have a patient for me?"

"Yes. Her name is Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald. It's a complicated case."

"So you said," Harley adjusted the strap of her bag. "Well, I would like to meet her. What floor is she on?"

"Second floor, room two-fourteen. Watch out for Mrs. Winthrop."

"I will," Harley promised. She got in the elevator and pulled out her cell. "Sin? It's me. I'm here. You know what to do right? And Robbie? Good. See you soon." Harley hung up and walked out onto the second floor when the elevator arrived. She followed the signs to room two-fourteen and knocked before entering.

Theresa was in bed with a man and a woman hovering over her.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald."

"I'm Theresa," the woman in bed said. "You must be Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Russell told me you were coming."

"Well, she didn't tell us," the blonde woman said folding her arms. "And your name is Dr. Jekyll?"

"Dr. Harley Jekyll. I'm from Louisiana. I'm an OB/GYN specializing in in-vitro pregnancies and multiple births."

"I see. Well, I'm Gwen Winthrop and this is my husband Ethan."

"It's nice to meet you both. Do you mind if I examine Theresa? I like to do an initial exam on my patients when I first meet them?"

"Of course not," Ethan said. "A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Jekyll."

"Please, call me Harley," the red head smiled at Ethan.

"Ethan. We'll leave you two alone now."

"We'll be right outside when you're done," Ethan ushered an unhappy Gwen out of the room.

Harley shut the door and pulled the curtains. Then she turned to Theresa. "It's amazing to me how easily a Southern accent manipulates a Yankee man. If the Confederacy had tried that during the Civil War, the North might not have won." She smiled at Theresa, "You're a good little actress. How are you bébé?"

"Pregnant with twins," Theresa said. "God, I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry to drag you into this." Theresa had the grace to look embarrassed for a minute.

"Oh bébé please! What good is it knowing an OB if you cannot call on her for emergencies? Now, we need to get you out of here."

"How?"

"Well, Sin is outside and she is about to distract Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop," Harley smiled.

"Why do I think I'd like to be a fly on the wall for that?" Theresa asked rhetorically.

"Because you would. Here, let me help you look less like a patient."

HR

"Oh my God, I am _so_ sorry," Ethan heard after finding himself covered in water, gravy, and jello.

He immediately squelched the urge to laugh at Theresa for spilling liquid on him again when he realized the woman was not Theresa.

"Are you alright? Please tell me you're not a doctor or I will just go and turn in my security badge right now."

He smiled. "I'm not a doctor, and I'm not a patient, which might be even worse. Just promise to be more careful. Don't want to make a mess for someone to slip on."

"Right. Is there anything I can do? I could pay to have your clothes dry-cleaned. I could get you some scrubs and get you out of that mess."

Ethan stepped back. "Why don't you get a nurse or a janitor to tell us where the mop is?" He suggested instead, darting a glance at his wife.

"The supply closet is over there. I have a lot of accidents when I'm nervous and since it's my first day, I knew I'd be nervous so I found the supply closet first thing."

"Good idea." Ethan said, trying not to be sarcastic.

Gwen had no such reservations.

"Maybe you should run along and get those mops. I'm sure you'll need them," Gwen said snottily.

Sin Sawyer gritted her teeth. Winthrop wasn't playing the game.

"I'm sorry. Can I help you?" Sin asked, feigning ignorance of the possessive way Gwen stood by Ethan.

"My wife is just a little worried about something else." Ethan said. "Honey, I'll go down to the car for my set of spare clothes. You can stay here while Ms.," He looked a question to Sin.

"Smith and it's Miss."

"Cleans up." Ethan gave her a confused look.

"Alright," Gwen watched Ethan go with a smile before turning back to Sin with a territorial look. "Look, Miss Smith, I have dealt with schemers before so believe me when I say I am willing to go to the mat to keep your hooks out of my husband. Back off."

Sin tried not to roll her eyes. No wonder Theresa had gone after Ethan. If she had more time, Sin might do it herself, just to take Gwen down a peg or two.

"Ma'am. Your husband is obviously a devoted man. It's not as if a mere servant or working class girl could ever take him away from a girl he says he loves."

Gwen's head snapped back and her nostrils flared, but she had the sense to turn on her heel and walk to the nearest ladies room without making a reply.

Sin walked towards Theresa's room, knocked twice and walked away.

She hoped Gwen slipped in the mess on the floor.

HR

"I can't believe you got it rebuilt. It's beautiful," Theresa said as she settled into the back seat of the car reconstructed from plans her great-great-great grandfather had left behind.

"It's a little flashy." Sin grinned. "But I like it."

"So, how easy was it to piss off Gwen?"

"Too." Sin grinned. "Still very satisfying though."

"And I have another surprise for you," Harley said as she pulled over to the side of the road near a wooded area.

"What?" Theresa looked out the window and then she gasped. "Oh my God. Little Ethan." Theresa grabbed her baby and hugged him so hard she almost squeezed the life out of his little body.

"Didn't think you'd want to go far without him. So I had Robbie go in."

Roberta Skinner smiled as she made her appearance. "Having a cat burglar in the gang does come in handy."

"They'll think he's been kidnapped." Theresa loosened her grip slightly as the blonde boy protested.

"No, they won't. At least not until we're in international waters," Robbie said. "See Rebecca thinks the nanny has him, the nanny thinks Gwen has him, and Gwen thinks Rebecca has him."

"Clever." Theresa sighed, and kissed her son's cheek. "Mommy missed you so much." She informed him. "So much."

"Missed you," he smiled. "Robbie fun."

"Why thank you. We should get going. The boat will be surfacing soon."

"Is that done by the original plans too?" Theresa asked eagerly.

"As a matter of fact it is," Robbie said, getting in front with Harley. "Heard from Erin. She'll meet us at the dock in Iceland."

Theresa grinned and held onto her son as the car sped away. "Did anyone mention this to my brother?"

"I couldn't find him," Sin said rolling her eyes. "Word is that he took off after some blonde."

"Charity." Theresa nodded. "His one true love."

"Well Maman always said that while there are some things that are a crock, true love is not," Harley said. "Luck to Miguel. Anyone hear from Liam?"

"I called him last week." Sin said nonchalantly, pulling out a nail file.

"And?"

"He's gonna meet us in Ireland. We'll stay at his ranch until you give birth. What about Quartermaine?"

"Emily's having issues of her own." Theresa said, as she tried to keep Ethan occupied with finger motions to "the itsy bitsy spider."

"I heard," Harley said. "But she did say she and her fiancé would try to join us. Robbie, did you get a chance to find anything else out when you were in the Crane Mansion?"

"I found the family tree. Julian had it taped to the bottom of Rebecca's bed."

"Because no one else hides under there?" Theresa snorted indelicately.

"No, I think Julian hides under his own bed," Robbie giggled. "We'll look at it more carefully on the ship."

"Thank you." Theresa looked to each woman in the car. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to you."

"No problem. But, Theresa, I was thinking. I think there's enough cause to do an amnio on you. I'll do the actual procedure and perform the chemistry part of it."

"I'll watch Ethan," Robbie volunteered.

"And I'll hold your hand," Sin said.

"What do you mean?" Theresa felt herself get a little panicky.

"Bébé, you were sleeping with Fox and Ethan when you were implanted with Gwen's egg. Then when you thought you lost it, you slept with Ethan and then Fox. There is a chance that one of those babies is Ethan's and one is Fox's."

Theresa covered her son's ears. "Can this conversation wait till the baby's asleep?"

"Absolutely. Look, we're here," Harley pulled up to the docks. "The boat will be surfacing in a few moments."

"Boat?" Ethan perked up. "Big boat?"

"A very big boat little one," Harley smiled. "But it also travels under water."

The little boy grinned at the idea of such an adventure.

HR

"What do you mean she's gone?" Gwen Hotchkiss asked a nurse.

"She may have gone to a rest room." The trapped employee looked like a deer in the headlights.

"She has a bathroom in her room."

"Perhaps she wanted more towels. Ma'am, I have twenty beds on this floor that I need to check. I suggest going to Miss Lopez Fitzgerald's room yourself to look for a note."

Gwen huffed and went into Theresa's room. She looked on the bed, the serving tray, the nightstand and even crouched down to peek under the bed. No note.

"Gwen?"

"Ethan, she's gone."

The man buttoned the cuffs of his new shirt. "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure? Look around you. Nothing of hers is left."

"Gwen, calm down. Maybe she was moved to another room. That new doctor may want her in a different wing of the hospital."

"Then why don't any of the nurses or doctors know where she is?" Gwen asked. "Ethan, no one knows where she is."

"Well, let's call Dr. Russell. She knows this doctor and she probably has a cell phone number for her."

"If that little bitch is doing this on purpose, I'll wring her stupid neck," Gwen threatened as she followed Ethan out of the hospital room.

hr

"Mommy! Boat!" Little Ethan pointed as the boat surfaced.

"No, sweetie. Not just a boat," Theresa looked at the gleaming white ship. "Home."


	2. Goodbye My Lovers

"So, what were the results?"

"Your little girl is Ethan's daughter and your son is Fox's," Harley handed over the results. "Theresa?"

"Sin is up on the deck with Ethan. I'm gonna go to my room," Theresa said quietly.

"Theresa-"

"I'm fine, Harley," Theresa assured her. "I just have to do something."

"No. That's not it. There's something you need to know about the Cranes."

"They're evil?"

"Besides that. The family name was once Moriarty."

"What?"

"Yeah. Um, Erin, she's been doing genealogy and she found the information in a couple of books that Grandma Mena had in her library in the Austria compound."

"Oh my God," Theresa felt sick and it had nothing to do with her condition. "I let Fox in my bed and into my heart."

"Honey-"

"I bore Julian's child."

"He got you drunk."

"I wanted to marry Ethan."

"Ethan's not a Crane."

"I didn't know that then. I wanted to be apart of a family that tried to kill our ancestors. Harley, I'm about to have Fox's child. What in God's name does that say about me?"

"It doesn't say anything about you. Sweetie, you cared about Fox. You may have even loved him in a way. That's not wrong."

"I think I need to be alone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll be okay."

"Okay. See you at dinner."

"You bet." Theresa retreated to her room and sat down at her desk. She took out some stationery and a pen. She laid out a sheet in front of her and took a deep breath in. She could hardly believe she was doing this.

_Dear Ethan,_

_I am so sorry to have made you worry for so long but I couldn't stay when I knew that the children I had growing inside of me might not be Gwen's and quite possibly could be mine. I got the confirmation today that one of my babies is yours and a girl. The other is a boy and he's Fox's. I'll be writing him as well. I don't want you to worry; I have the best medical care available to me courtesy of old friends._

_Ethan, I'm not coming back to Harmony. I can't raise any of my kids near a Crane, not even if one of them happened to father one of my children. Julian understands. We talked and he wants me and Little Ethan as far from Alistair as we can get._

_What I am about to tell you may sound completely crazy but I swear it's absolutely true. I assume you've read all the great books like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, and Dracula just to name a few. Well, what if I told you that they were all true stories? That the people who wrote them actually knew a pirate, a woman who, along with her husband and a man named Van Helsing, fought a dangerous evil, and the scientist with the split personality and used their adventures to stimulate our minds. And, going a little further, what if I told you that I am the great-great-great-great granddaughter of Captain Nemo?_

_I have to wonder if the picture of your face in my head matches the actual look of disbelief and shock you have on right now. But I swear it's all true._

_Now for the other part of the story, The Crane family name changed at least once in the past 100 years or so. It used to be Moriarty and again in the last 100 years or so a Moriarty has tried to kill an ancestor of mine. I know that the Winthrop and Bennett families aren't involved in this mess of a family feud but our child is a Crane's sister twice over and I won't let them grow up to hate one another. I'm sorry Ethan. I am so sorry and I hope you know that I will always love you._

_Love,_

_Theresa_

Theresa folded up the pages of her letter to Ethan and put them in an envelope before she addressed it. Erin was leaving the boat for a while tomorrow when they docked in Italy. She could mail it for her when she got a few countries away.

She sighed a little and took out another sheet of paper. Somehow this letter was harder to write.

Theresa sighed and took out another piece of paper.

_Dear Fox,_

_How do I start this? I don't doubt that after you've finished reading this you'll go straight to either Ethan or your grandfather and though I have no right to ask anything after what I've done, I beg you not to tell your grandfather what I am about to write down._

_Fox, one of my babies, my son, is also your son. He has a twin half-sister, half-cousin and she's Ethan's daughter. I will not do to them what Ivy did __to you and Ethan. I will not play favorites among them and Ethan Martin. No matter whom their father is I will love them. You never have to worry about him being loved._

_Fox, you and I never should've been friends or lovers or even in the same room together and I'm not saying that because of Ethan. It's because your ancestor tried to kill mine. Our family feud goes back further than my brother's suspicions that your grandfather had something to do with my father's disappearance._

_I know how crazy it may sound but your family name hasn't always been Crane. Once upon a time it was Moriarty and he tried to kill my many times great-grandfather the famed Captain Nemo. As crazy as it sounds, it's true._

_Fox, I will always care about you. You are now and forever a part of me. But I won't be coming back and I won't write again at least not to you or Ethan._

_Love,_

_Theresa_

Theresa folded up the piece of paper after she finished. She put the letters aside and took out two pictures. One of herself and Ethan and one of herself and Fox. She'd loved them both once.

"Goodbye to both of you. I loved you both and knowing that I can love our babies. I wish you well," she whispered before she put the pictures in with the letters and sealed the envelopes. Then she went to find Erin.


	3. Decisions

"Father," Fox entered Julian's study without knocking.

"Fox, what is it? You look upset," Julian observed.

"He is. So am I," Ethan came in, shutting the door behind him.

"Is this true," Fox shoved a letter at Julian.

"It can't be true. It's too ridiculous," Ethan said, tightly holding his own written good-bye from Theresa. "This is some form of punishment for my choosing Gwen."

"Yes, because once again, Big Brother, everything is about you," Fox rolled his eyes. "How does that explain her taking my son away before he's even born?"

"Both of you please be quiet," Julian requested loudly.

"Julian, what's going on," Ethan asked.

"Fox, close the door," Julian told his son.

Fox did as he was told.

"Sit, both of you, please," Julian requested.

Fox took the armchair while Ethan sat on the sofa.

Julian folded his arms and half-sat half-stood at his desk.

"First of all, this can never leave this room. Ethan, you can never tell Gwen, though I suspect she has her own ideas of the Crane family history. Fox, you can never reveal what I'm about to say to the woman you choose to share your life with, be it Whitney or someone else."

"Father, what is going on?

"What Theresa said in those letters is true," Julian said quietly.

"It can't be," Ethan said, getting up from the sofa. "Think about what it means."

"I have. I've thought about it every single day of my life since Alistair told me what Theresa wrote to you."

"Does Mother know?"

"No. I'm sure Ivy has her suspicions but she doesn't know the whole story. She, like Gwen, thinks Theresa's leaving is her way of punishing you and Gwen."

"She doesn't know about my son," Fox asked.

"No. And neither do you," Julian reminded. "As far as you two are concerned these letters never arrived and this conversation never took place."

"I can't just let her take off with my daughter," Ethan protested. "I'm not a Crane, this family feud shouldn't affect my child."

"But it will because her brothers are Cranes," Julian said. "And Alistair will take them and twist them and teach them to hate their mother and everyone in her family."

"This is insane. You can't honestly tell me that you're okay with her taking the first born son of your son out of the country," Fox said.

"Okay with it? No. But I understand it. If I'd had the chance I'd have taken you and your sisters as far away from Harmony as possible."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because your grandfather would've had me killed and then never let your mother near any of you."

"Father-"

"Fox, you can't do anything and what's more you can never let your grandfather know that you know about our family tree."

"Julian, I understand your fear for Little Ethan-"

"Not to mention my unborn son," Fox interrupted.

"Right. But as far as my daughter goes, Theresa has nothing to fear from Alistair.

"She has everything to fear. Ethan, if she were to grant you access to your daughter, however limited, how long do you think it would take Alistair to either take her and use her as a bargaining chip for Little Ethan and Fox's son or to simply follow Theresa and take her sons from her home in the dead of night?"

"It's called lying Julian."

"Alistair's not stupid, Ethan. How long do you think you'll get away with it, especially considering Fox will follow you the first chance he gets?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Fox, be honest. If you know or suspect Ethan is seeing his daughter you'll follow him and demand to see your son as soon as you see Theresa."

"So, what do we do?"

"Nothing. We leave Theresa to her life and go on with ours as if we never had this conversation. Ethan, you will tell Gwen that you received word from a hospital about Theresa's miscarriage."

"You want me to lie to my wife?"

"For as long as you both shall live," Julian said in a mockery of the vows Ethan had taken with Gwen.

"What will you tell Grandfather," Fox asked.

"That Theresa disappeared," Julian said.

"Along with a Crane heir," Fox added.

"We have you and Chad," Julian said. "He'll be happy with that. Besides even if he were to find Theresa, she'd most likely be gone before he could get anywhere near her."

"So, that's it? We leave this room and forget that we each have a child out there in the world?"

"If you want them to grow up as far away from Alistair and his corruption as they can."

"And if Theresa marries? What then? Live with the idea that my son is calling some other man 'Dad'? That someone else is teaching him to be a man?"

"Fox, listen to me."

"No. I will find them. If I have to search until the day I die, I will find them."

"Keep it to yourself."

"What?"

Ethan looked at Fox, "If you insist on trying to find them, don't tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want your mission getting back to Gwen or Alistair."

"So you're going to lie to Gwen?"

"Yes. It's the best thing for everybody on my end. If Gwen were to find out about Theresa drugging me there's no telling what she'd do."

"Not to mention Ivy. Wise choice Ethan." Julian looked at Fox, "Discretion is the better part of valor, remember that."

"Yes Father."

"Good."


	4. A Kick in the Butt

Harley paused at the door to the living room and looked at Theresa sitting on the couch with her back to the arm and her legs stretched out in front of her. She had a tea cup in her hands and she was staring at the fireplace where a fire was slowly dying out.

"Theresa?"

"Hey. Erin said you were looking for me," Theresa smiled as Harley sat down on the coffee table. "What's up?"

"Erin thought I should be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I got a wire from home. Fox is looking for you."

"What?"

"He's having a bit of trouble since your family and friends won't share any of their pictures with him."

"Well, he has pictures of me."

"Yeah, see that's a bit of a problem too."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, it would seem that his temporary secretary accidentally shredded all the pictures that were on his desk for the posters he wanted to make up. Good thing Robbie didn't really want a future at Crane."

"And the newspaper?"

"Can I help it if the issues featuring you were inexplicably erased due to a computer virus?"

"And who was responsible for that?"

"Liam."

"Of course. How is he?"

"He's anxious to see a certain old friend."

"I'm looking forward to seeing him too."

"Good." Harley looked around the room. "I always liked this room. Sin did such a good job with it. You even have a 'view'," she said motioning to the 'windows' painted on the wall to depict a beautiful skyline.

"Yeah she did. Harl, what's going on?"

"What makes you think anything's going on?"

"'Cause I know you. I have known you forever. We've written and talked and IM'd each other since we were six. There is a picture of us somewhere with paper bags painted up like animals over our heads. So I think that when I think you've got something to say but you're holding back, I'm well within my rights to think so."

"Was that English?"

"Harley Jean," Theresa's tone was approaching pissed.

"Okay, okay, okay, but remember you asked for it."

"I'll remember. What's going on?"

"Well, Erin's been doing her research, you know her."

"I know. I think Edmund got all the rogue genes on that end."

"I don't know about that. Er can be a bit of a bad ass. Why do you think Jeff's parents were so against them," Harley smiled. "Anyway, she discovered something going through Grandma Mina's diaries and she ran across a reference to a child that Dorian Gray had with one of his many mistresses."

"Okay."

"So she started to trace the mistress and the child, who was named Evan, through the years. You know she found their descendants and who married who, stuff like that."

"Right."

"She traced Evan to a Hamilton Osborne."

"Oh." Theresa blinked and looked down at her hands.

"Theresa, are you okay?"

"Hamilton Osborne was Rebecca's father."

"I know."

"Gwen's grandfather."

"Right."

"Harley, I nearly had a woman whose family tried to kill mine raising my sons and my daughter."

"There's no way-"

"I know there's no way I could've known."

"Exactly."

"But I should have suspected something."

"Why?"

"Because when everyone thought that Ethan was a Crane, they wanted him to marry Gwen so much and they wanted me as far away from him as possible. God, Rebecca wanted to put me on a plane just so I wouldn't ruin her daughter's wedding."

"And you thought that it was just because Rebecca wanted Gwen happy when you found out that she had orchestrated the whole thing. Anyone would have thought the same thing."

"I can't go back to Harmony. I can't let Fox or Ethan see their kids. When I tell them who their fathers are, I'm also going to have to tell them that they can never see their fathers. And Little Ethan, what am I going to tell him?"

"The truth."

Theresa sighed, "Yeah, I know."

"It's gonna be okay."

"I hope so." Theresa looked at Harley, "Hey."

"What?"

"What are you still doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you still doing here, Miss Hot Shot Attending with an entire department to run at Morning Glory Hospital?"

"I'm taking a vacation."

"Oh boy."

"What?"

"You just called my escape from Harmony a vacation. David asked you to marry him again, didn't he?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Harley."

"It's ridiculous."

"It is not. You love the man and he loves you. You've already proven you're an amazing team. Director Forbes called you a force to be reckoned with when I called him to ask for help. What's the problem?"

"He's this amazing doctor-"

"So are you."

"I got lucky."

"Harley, listen up right this second. You are this full of possibilities person who is always there when I need her and I love you for it, but honey, you need to take care of your own life too."

"You know, I have never understood what he sees in me."

"Well, you're drop dead gorgeous, for one."

"Theresa," Harley sighed. "Have you ever _seen _Hilary?"

"You are not seriously comparing yourself to your big sister are you?"

"I was the science geek, she was the cheerleader."

"Harley, you are a brilliant, beautiful, sweet, special, and talented woman. _Hilary_ should be grateful you are her sister, not the other way around. She would've flunked out of high school if it hadn't been for you."

"But-"

"No. I have to cut myself off from the only two men I have loved in my life. You don't. I want you to get your ass on a train the next time we pull into a port and get yourself to an airport. Then go home and tell David yes because I know that in your heart, that's what you want."

"And how do you know this?"

"'Cause you're in love him and that's what people in love want to do no matter how scared they are of things going to hell."

"I just think marriage changes things."

"Yes and a lot of the time it changes for the better. Don't you want the whole package with him? You know, kids, a home, a puppy, and someone to wear matching jogging suits with when get old?"

"Not funny," Harley glared.

"A little funny. C'mon, you have dreamed of getting married in your family's church since you were old enough to walk."

"I know, but-" Harley faltered.

"No. No more excuses," Theresa told her. "Go home and marry him. Grab the gold ring Girlie and live happily ever after for at least a day."

Harley leaned over and hugged her, "We'll wait until after you have the babies, 'cause there is no way you're not my maid of honor."

"I love you, too."


	5. What She Could Really Do

this is by Katie

--

**_2032_**

Bel Harker adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and looked casually across the campus she called home

Bel Harker adjusted the strap of her messenger bag and looked casually across the campus she called home. She had a nagging feeling that she was being watched—and Bel had learned from her parents to listen to her gut. After the Auckland Incident (capitalized, as it remained in her mind), she'd stopped allowing herself to believe that she was being followed. The kidnapping had left her paranoid and panicked. Gradually, as the post-traumatic stress faded and she grew comfortable, she stopped feeling eyes follow her.

She suspected that after the kidnapping, there had been eyes—just not hostile ones. She thinks that Theresa and Liam probably arranged for discreet guards for their somewhere-in-the-middle child. So maybe she hadn't imagined the eyes. But she'd learned to distinguish between the impassive eyes of almost-invisible guards and this kind of interested watching.

She hadn't suffered from a feeling this intense for six years, Her peace of mind was hard won—but so was her safety. Bel shivered and wished for her favorite jacket, despite the mildness of the September morning. She'd had the jacket since she was fifteen, since she'd been captured by a Cassadine/Crane mole who had gotten too close to the Harker family. She'd been wearing it that day, and they hadn't taken it from her. The jacket had pillowed her head and warmed her body for the long week before her parents found her.

She'd worn the jacket nonstop for weeks after—it was like her security blanket, and she relinquished it only long enough to wash it—and then she sat by the washing machine and waited for it. None of her family had known quite what to do. Gentle, dutiful Bel had changed overnight into a girl who jumped at shadows and shouted over trifles.

She never told her family the extent of her trauma. Her parents had seen the medical reports. She refused to put it into words for her siblings. Some days, she hated herself for being weak. She wasn't the first of the Harker family to be captured. She wasn't the first prisoner who'd been abused and beaten. But she was the first of her family to become so frightened that she wanted to go live with a grandmother she'd never met.

Bel expected things of herself she had no reason to—just because Maria had driven to safety at age thirteen didn't mean that a fifteen-year-old girl with next to no training should've been able to escape an expertly designed prison. But rationalizing didn't help. Bel felt unworthy to continue her family's legacy—but more than that, she realized she really didn't want to run around getting shot at. She wanted to find a safe place to drink tea and read a book and lock the ugly memories in the vacuum of history.

Theresa had compromised with Bel—the daughter spent her high school years at a Scottish boarding school, under the alias "Fay Buckley." She'd learned to defend herself, to French kiss, and she'd discovered that she liked who she, Bel Harker, was when she wasn't in the middle of her siblings and their grand cause. She liked living a normal life, with class and a dining hall and without espionage and intrigue.

She had friends and casual acquaintances and teachers who knew her name. She didn't have a boyfriend, but that was partly her choice. Since the Auckland Incident, she hadn't wanted to have sex. She was happy to kiss and caress, but sex? She'd tried once, with her first love, but when she'd had a panic attack and explained (only a little, only the barest sketch, nothing about being a hostage or why), he'd freaked out. He didn't want to cause her pain and he didn't think he could wait and so they'd parted. Since, Bel had had romances, but she found herself keeping the men she dated at arm's length, waiting for some mysterious sign that this was "The One."

Bel ducked into the library, the site of her work-study job. She worked in the combination of the archive and the stacks, fetching and replacing books as they were called for. When it was slow, she could explore the miles of materials. Each bookcase was thirty-five feet high, each row of shelves was one-hundred-and-twenty-seven feet long, and each shelf was a foot wide. There were twelve stacks. Bel was in heaven with all the forgotten and dusty books and papers. This was the LAST place she expected danger to touch her—bullets and bandits couldn't enter the sanctuary she'd created for herself here.

Of course, to get to her haven, she had to go through the reading room, which was full of carrels and working scholars. Bel smiled cheerfully at the shift supervisor, who returned the greeting. Most employees found the archivists and librarians boring or cranky, but Bel admired their patience. Her family had never managed to stay in one place for long—they had one whirlwind adventure after another, until she found herself combing through her memories, checking them against Livvy's, trying to figure out if her first pony ride was in Russia or Greece.

Bel liked the idea of records, liked the idea of fixing the past in some permanent way. She thought she might want to do it forever—but she was only twenty-one, and there was still time. She didn't feel the eyes on her anymore, so she left the library and dashed into class. It was her favorite, taught by a young professor with kind eyes, who had excused her from reading _Lolita_, when she explained in broken sentences that it would be painful for her. She had offered to read _Pale Fire_, or the collected short stories, anything else of Nabokov's—but he'd given her a pass and told her not to worry about it.

Bel shivered halfway through class, and felt the eyes again. She checked surreptitiously, and it wasn't any of her classmates. She turned in her seat, looked out the door, and squeaked. What the hell was Marty doing on her campus, looking in the window at her class?

She was flushed and unfocused for the rest of class, and she lingered over packing her notebook, until she was left alone in the classroom with her professor. Marty chose that moment to stroll in, "Hey 'Sabel. How are you?"

Bel bit her lips and looked at her older cousin. "What are you doing here," she asked, voice tight.

Her professor hesitated at the door. He'd never seen Bel Harker look so frightened, but it wasn't his business to get involved. But he couldn't leave her alone, not after the halting confession in his office. "Ms. Harker, I'll be upstairs in my office, if you would like to come upstairs to discuss your essay."

"Thanks." She offered him a grotesque attempt at a smile. "But you don't have to wait on me."

Hesitantly, he left.

"It's so cute. The nerd was going to protect you from me." Marty laughed, and tried to ruffle her hair.

"Shut up." Bel said, without heat or force. "What's wrong? Why are you here? Is it Liv? Is…?"

"What?" Marty looked at her, and then shook his head. "No, nothing like that. No one's hurt. You're not in danger. I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by. Nice security system on the apartment by the way—took me four tries to get in."

"That doesn't make me feel very safe." She trembled.

"Oh, Is, honest, I didn't want to scare you. I just thought it might be a nice surprise."

"Yeah, but you could've called, you know? I mean, you showed up in the middle of my class! And how did you know where I'd be? Mom's the only one who has my schedule and I seriously doubt she gave it out so you could pay a call."

"Oh, Mat told me what you're taking and I looked up the course catalog and found the room. That's all."

"It is good to see you," Bel admitted. She stepped into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Okay, if you don't mind stopping off at a grocery store with me, I can put together the best Chile Con Carne this side of the Rio Grande with a side of cornbread."

"I should take you out," Marty protested.

"No." She disagreed, "Just think, you're the first family member I'm cooking for in my kitchen."

They trooped off to the grocery store, and Bel tried to shake the feeling that extra eyes were still following her. She tried to dismiss the fear, tried to say it must've been Marty's eyes she felt today.

But there's only so long you can lie to yourself.

Bel was browning stew meat, stirring a red chile sauce, chopping an onion, and rummaging in a cabinet while Marty drank a Corona and offered to help. He was rejected, tartly for Bel, who insisted, "Alcohol and knives don't mix in my kitchen."

Marty got a kick out of watching little Bel hum around, setting out salsa and chips and guacamole. She fit here, in this warm kitchen, thick with the scent of spices. She fit in the classroom and at the library, fit in the quiet life. He told her so, and was surprised to see tears on her cheeks. She made excuses, "The onion," but Marty realized how lonely she must sometimes get. Talking to Livvy, her closest sister, and Mat, clearly couldn't replace the bustle and overflow of the Nautilus galley. Marty had passionately hated his seven years as an only child—he couldn't understand how much Bel loved the peace of her kitchen and apartment.

Maybe that was another reason Bel hadn't chosen a lover. She valued her privacy and guarded it jealously. She shared what she had when she could, but she liked to reserve a few secrets for herself alone.

Marty also didn't know why she was wearing the stupid raggedy old jacket in the over-heated kitchen. She'd liked the thing since she bought it, but after the abduction in Auckland, it seemed to be part of her skin. No one ever accused Marty of being particularly perceptive, but of course, his blindness in that matter could've been excused as selective.

Marty drank the beer, ate the dinner, and thanked his cousin and lay down to nap. He was exhausted from his latest mission and debrief, and so she asked him to stay the night. Bel set her locks and the alarm, then turned on the radio and began to wash the dishes—but Marty's "test" of her security system had broken the alarm. She was washing a small steak knife when she felt a sting on the back of her neck. She dropped the knife into the pocket of her apron and turned to look for the source of the attack.

She shouldn't have bothered—the drug had already done its work.

She woke up naked, on a blanket, in a dimly-lit lavatory, the kind with one toilet and one sink. She could tell from the toilet style that she was still in the United States, or Western Europe at the least. She would guess she was in a work place or school, because the soap dispenser and toilet paper were that industrial quality.

Her leg was shackled to the stall—how stupid, to put a stall in a room with one toilet. She took stock—no broken bones, only a few bruises, and she wasn't sore in a way that would suggest she'd been violated while unconscious. The drug had left a horrible taste in her mouth, kind of like flat, hot orange soda mixed with sour cream. Seconds after the thought crossed her mind, she knelt and vomited several times—and she never had to explain whether it was fear of the situation, relief that she hadn't been raped, or the after-effects of the drug that caused the nausea. She ran water in the sink and rinsed her mouth.

Closer examination of her surroundings revealed that someone had left panties, her T-shirt, jeans and her jacket on the floor, just out of reach. Bel engaged in some athletic stretching to grab the clothing. She donned the T-shirt and jacket immediately, then set to washing her underwear in the sink. She wrung it out, placed it on paper towels to dry, then sank into unconsciousness again.

When she woke up, her underwear was dry. She tried to work out all the permutations of dressing herself while her leg was shackled, and resolved that she would solve the puzzle before one of her intrepid family members came to save her. She eventually figured out that she could pull the undergarment through the shackle, then put the other leg in, and voila. She felt better already. The same trick didn't work with the pants, but by then, she'd attended to enough mundane details to allow her to calm the panic and address the real problems.

She unraveled a wire from a seam of her jacket—she'd added it, after last time, and having her coat made her feel safe and ready and competent because it was her idea and this time, this time she didn't have to wait for Mommy and Dad to find her.

She passed time trying to pick the leg shackle with the wire. She never knew how long it took—minutes? hours?—but at last, she was free of the chain. The skin on her ankle was abraded and bruised, but she could put weight on the leg, which was all she cared about, at that moment. Bel pulled on the jeans, then tested the door. It was locked, of course, so she checked around for keys or anything useful. She jimmied the other side of the shackle, just in case she had a chance to use it on someone who had put her in here. There was nothing useful in the paper towel dispenser (she broke it open), fishing through the soap dispenser yielded nothing but smelly pink soap, and there was nothing in the toilet tank except water. She didn't see anything in the sink or on the floor, so she set her wits to the problem of the lock on the door. Her wire was too flimsy for the task, but a joint of the paper towel lever might serve.

An age passed while she worked on the lock. Her mind might have forgotten, her fingers might be stiff and clumsy, but some part of her recollected the art of lock picking. How old had they been when Daddy taught her and Mat and Livvy how to do this? The three of them had been something of a unit—they weren't the big kids, Ethan and Marty, and they weren't the twins—Jane and Jon, Riley and Vinny—they weren't the babies of the family like Lee and Aidan, and they weren't really part of Kat and Nat (though sometimes Mat was). They were the middle children, who sometimes got a little more lost in the shuffle than their parents realized.

The lesson had come after Maria and Jane and Jon escaped with Maria driving the getaway car, but before Marty got in trouble for beating up a boy who made innuendoes about Theresa. Bel isn't sure why those events bookend the lesson in her fuzzy memory, but it could've been the aftereffects of the tranquilizer.

The lock finally popped. Bel eased open the door, in order to observe a still room in what was usually a sweatshop or factory of some sort. Barefoot, she limped between the aisles of silent sewing machines. First, she needed to find the exits. Second, she should get an idea of surveillance. Third, find the other prisoners, especially Marty.

It was dumb luck that she found her cousin first. A very small, very spiteful side of her wanted to leave him behind, because it was his fault that they'd been taken. He'd led them to her, he'd broken her alarms. But it had been an accident--he loved her and she loved him, and he had more experience anyway.

She had not seen her jailors at all, so she didn't know how often they would check on her. Speed was most important.

Bel patted Marty's face until he woke up. He was bleeding from a wound on the back of his head—it looked like the scalp had been nicked, but she couldn't be sure of the extent of the damage. He had been doped more seriously than she had, but gamely followed her lead to an emergency exit. She pushed open the door, which started a shrieking fire alarm. Damn. Who could've known that a sweatshop would maintain its fire-prevention system?

At a gimpy run, Bel led Marty away from the exit, into a hallway, then into another room, as three men thundered past, towards the door that set off the alarm. The cousins exited the building another way, but it was only a temporary ruse—nothing that was likely to work for long. She was just buying time, while she looked for an escape vehicle or a safe place to hide. Marty was still bleeding from the head wound their hosts had treated him to. When he got woozy, she stripped off her beloved jacket and made it into a compress.

The only vehicle on the premise was a chunky, dilapidated van. Shaking her head, Bel waited while Marty covered his fist with her coat and broke a passenger window to get them into the van. Their assailants had not been kind enough to leave the keys in the engine, so Marty hotwired it and passed out. Bel padded his head with the jacket and let him bleed, while she eased the van into first gear. The most timid driver in the extended Harker/Lopez-Fitzgerald clan, tried to manipulate the gearshift and behemoth mountain of metal without attracting attention.

When the three men saw her and began shouting, she ceased moving covertly and gunned the van. The men pursued on motorcycles, which gave them flexibility and speed she couldn't hope for. But then, she was controlling the biggest vehicle on the road. The chase worked her next-to-last nerve, but fate smiled—she got across a convenient set of train tracks seventy-three seconds before her pursuers, who had to stop and wait for the train.

She got to a McDonald's, where she made an emergency call to the WSB. She was still bare-foot and covered in blood, which attracted suspicion, but she gasped a story about calling her daddy to find the lying, sneaking, no-good cheat and people backed away, probably to gossip about her. Bel followed the directions the WSB agent gave her, practically flying over twisting back roads (it turned out they were in Kansas, of all the places to bring hostages—there's no water traffic, air traffic is noticeable and the land is so flat that you can see ground transport for miles around). But maybe their captors thought that the difficult features of the land would make a rescue impossible? Twenty-five minutes after her phone call, a helicopter met her and Marty in a field. She woke him up and followed him up the ladder. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Bel Harker reflected that she hadn't done so badly after all.

Marty had never been so proud of her, or so sad. Maybe…maybe this life was normal, for them? Maybe she's as out-of-place outside the WSB as he would be. He liked to think it's untrue, liked to remember the way the young professor eyed her, with that gentle concern and clueless protectiveness. Liked to think of her having a husband and babies and a kitchen and books and everything she ever wanted.

He refused to think about how frightened her face had been, when it swam above his while she drove over the jolting roads. And he'd be damned if he thought about the medical file he reviewed, when he was trying to find out just what had happened to her when they'd been separated. She'd told him, so baldly, unlike Bel's usual tiptoeing "They didn't—I wasn't violated. Not this time."

It's phrases like that one that remind Marty that Bel spoke Spanish first, that the word for rape is "violación," that she never straightened those false cognates out.

But no semantic distraction could stop the realization that "Not this time" meant there had been another time. And it didn't take a genius to realize that it must've been in Auckland.

He had destroyed her jacket, her safety blanket—nothing they did could get the blood out. She kept the rags, but they were never a garment again.

After reading her medical chart, he fled the hospital. He left a note about a mission—she wasn't fooled. He didn't see her again until she presented herself as the answer to the WSB's prayers—she was going to manage their archives. They couldn't imagine anyone better for the job—she'd already proven her loyalty to the WSB, and she could competently design finding aids that work.

She never knew that Marty hunted down each of the responsible individuals, that he eradicated everyone who knew her location. He had slipped up by visiting, had led danger to her doorstep. And then, while he'd been unconscious, she'd escaped her own cell. He was proud of her, but it made him ten times more conscious of his own failures. Ethan wouldn't have bumped his head and stayed unconscious. But then, Ethan probably wouldn't have had the stomach to extract the same information from each man, "How did you find her? Do you know who she is? Why?"

The last time a man told him that Bel was chosen because she was the weakest Harker, Marty laughed. "I wouldn't mistake gentleness for weakness. It gives her time to gently stick a knife in your back."

This wasn't true in anything but spirit—Bel had no blood on her hands. But Marty believed that she was capable of it, capable of taking a life to preserve her own.

But since when did Marty know what Bel could really do?


End file.
